One More Day
by OneRepublic
Summary: Memories are like a box of clothes. You stuff the worst far back into the dusty corners of your attic and you keep the treasured up front where you can enjoy them forever. Before long you begin to forget those that are stuck in the cobwebs of your mind...


**This was just sitting in my computer; unfinished. I worked on it, revised it and came up with this prologue to a new fic I'm writing. Although I'm not sure if I should continue or just delete this. Just tell me what you think.**

**Disclaimer:** OneRepublic does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

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**One More Day**

A Prologue

_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another._  
_~Anatole France_

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He supposed it was never meant to begin the way it began. Or end the way it eventually ended. He had always expected for the results to go against his favor. He had always thought life mocked him in a way. But this, the Fallout, was not to be expected by the best alive in his previous time. The great power granted to those four. The immense power from the unseen force was, altogether, too much for them to handle. And so the Fallout was created. Eventually, like him, the three others Fell in power and grace. Stripped away 'till bones and the bare truths showed. Then as sudden as they had come into this world; three of the four left gracing the Seven Ones with imprints of glorious and divine memories. Passed on, the memories turned to legend; some to rot. Soon the Seven Ones were forgotten and their legacy drifted and unraveled. Of course, as memoirs may be forgotten along with the holder, they can also be remembered. Held onto tightly; they can reside in the back of the mind. Hidden in a dark corner. He contemplated how everything had turned to this; how he had been the only one left. Completely stripped of life and left with mortality. And how it turned from this to that. In the end, irony is definitely a twisted little thing. Just as most things were and are in this poor, corrupted world.

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His neon green eyes shone in the bittersweet dark. It cloaked him like a warm quilt. Or at least that's how comforting it was for Harry James Potter to hide in the little nook right next to the closest cranny. Today had definitely not been his best; at age five he had seen worse, but still, this was completely outrageous. Another day of torture and silence. At least it wasn't any worse. He had reasoned with himself over and over again, but like every time he never really won. Which, by itself, was pretty sad. His uncle and aunt were always the same; no need to complain. His cousin would forever be the perpetual lump. But still, that echoing feeling of doubt had lingered in his thoughts the whole day. It tickled at his senses and brushed against his mind; never leaving. The feeling was very persistent in its ways of annoying him. And he couldn't help it. Couldn't stop that suspicion. The feeling as if everything was a lie.

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The sky was certainly a magnificent sight that morning. Magnificent in all its scarlet glory. The blood redness of the expanse dripped down to Earth and cast a shadow of foreboding on its current residents in the dreary town of Surry. Trees filtered down the lane; swinging with an invisible breeze. The leaves twisted, and turned, and fell as they should. Happy screams of the youth running around the nearby primary school would bring most back down to Earth, but not a certain seven year old that quietly leaned against a crooked willow. The child was staring up at the rose-like heavens thoughtfully, as he did every break. A mystery to the children and even the teachers; Harry always spent his time alone. Preferring silence and peace rather than the harsh vocals of the ones of his year. The raven hair that mopped over his quick thinking skull was as it should be. Tangled, wild, and a mess. The glasses that had certainly seen better days and the sagging cloths that hung off of his lithe frame were still there. And above his eyebrows, in the dead center of his forehead, a lightning bolt stood out from his pale complexion. As always, it was hidden from view; no need to attract unwanted attention. He despised the stares and whispers from behind his back. It wasn't like he never heard them; he just choose to ignore them. Attention was one of the things he hated almost as much as his family. Speaking of family, his large excuse for a cousin had looked up and was lumbering over to the small defenseless boy sitting under the willow. Harry's eyes widened. Scratch that; his family was inexplicably worse than scrutiny.

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They threatened to fall. Pooling at the tips and sparkled in frigid air. It wasn't really what he wanted to happen, but alas nothing was ever what he wanted. The permanent stains were, once again, threatening to be retraced and he knew he could not let that happen. Falling, falling all around. The snow drifted it own path. The pine leaves settled comfortably next to its brothers. And his heart? Well he didn't really know where that went. Deep down into where it belonged? Or maybe it was sitting close to his soul and bringing on this unnecessary war of emotions. Whatever. Wherever. Whenever. He just didn't really care for sentiments right now. Oh, who was he kidding! Harry mentally gave up on the battle and tossed the towel. Why did he have to be so stupid? Why did they even ask? Teachers should mind their own in his opinion. But, no! had to ask Them about why his grades were slipping. Why the frail (Who said he was frail? He'd never been frail in his entire life!) ten-year-old rarely ever spoke. Why he always was the one who was silent. Why he was the only single one who was mature. Why? Why? Why? Why! It was all a pitiful joke, really. Sometimes he pondered every single thing he had done wrong and found himself asking the exact same questions. Could someone give him a break? An escape for at least a few moments would certainly do. He had watched and waited. And waited and watched for nearly ten years of this life. Why couldn't someone in control up their as-

Harry Potter stopped in his tracks. Or more accurately, fell. As he tried to pick himself up he was struck by two realizations. One, he was nowhere near Privet Drive. And two, he had just tripped over someone. In Harry's rulebook touch was limited to what was needed and speech was never pushed to the limit. So, naturally, his sensitivity alarms were blaring. The stranger stood up and dusted himself off, an apologetic look on his face. About medium height. Sandy-blond hair and eyes; a soft blue. Not much of a threat. The man was neither ordinary nor extraordinary. He couldn't completely decide where the stranger was. He looked at Harry with a dangerous smirk, ruffled his hair. And stuck out his hand. By this time Harry was hyperventilating inside with the thought of actually touching someone and his heart was surely about to give from the strain. But nonetheless he took the offered, in his eyes-offending, hand, stood up, and shook himself. Remain dignified. No fear. No squeaky voice again either. The man opened his mouth and Harry knew, just knew, he was doomed.

"I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings."

The stranger's mouth had twisted up into a fierce grin; which suddenly had Harry fearing for his life. A bit melodramatic in his opinion, but he wouldn't dare say that aloud.

"I-it's okay." A lie of course.

Weakness. He had shown weakness. Curse his faltering tongue! He'd have to perfect that gap of deceit soon or else something worse was bound to happen; especially with his luck. Mentioning his luck; Harry risked a glance up from his snow-caked, peeling boots. The man had looked away for an unknown reason and was thoroughly distracted from the boy right in front of him. Harry could've jumped for joy. And then slowly the eyes moved back to him. Harry gave a sigh; so much for joy. The stranger's eyes flashed with an unrecognizable emotion; was it possibly familiarity? Nah, Harry didn't think he'd ever seen this guy around before. Unles-

Again, the man cut his thoughts off. Again, a hand was thrust his way and Harry had to fight the urge to cringe away. But he didn't. For he had made the biggest mistake of all. He had looked directly into the strangers eyes. And a flood of whatever he had seen before washed over him; he ignored it.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I got your name before." Harry politely inquired; his curiosity was raging now. The unknown factor looked at him expectantly, and then he shook his head and kept on grinning.

"How horrible of me; don't you think? It's just you look like someone I used to know a long time ago. Forgetting my manors like that is just atrocious. My name is Garrick. Garrick Adel."

Another smirk; maybe even worse than the previous. The man's hand dropped.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter."

And then Garrick Adel was gone like the breeze that drifted past. He ran all the way back to Number Four; desperate to not be seen by Uncle. Vernon didn't hold a great fondness for staying out too late. He sloshed and plodded through the thick snow, his breath coming out in short puffs. Past the park, flew by the grocers. It was only when he skidded into his street did Harry realize he hadn't told the man his name. Rather rude in his opinion.

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**The End. No really. Do you want more or for the torture to stop?**

**Hope you enjoyed it.**

**-OneRepublic  
**


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